(For Gwen Harwood and James McAuley) “Hello Graeme, old love, it’s Gwen, I’m sitting on a cloud too fine For jealousy to let you see. But please believe your ears as I Exhort you not to bow to age, To keep tramping around in search Of at least one poem that will be As sure of fame as all mine are. There’s still life in your Hell’s Gate’s, West Coast of Tasmania being that’s Done well despite the limits of Its origins encumbering you, The baggage you can’t shed to fly As high as I have done, or Jim, Who…